The Poison Oracle Read Online Free PDF Page A

asked in Japanese whether any of them knew whether the air-conditioning was still working. There was a mutter among the group. A square, blue-suited businessman moved to one side and allowed Morris to see that there were two diminutive air hostesses standing among the men, limp little rag dolls in pretty kimonos.
    “We think the air-conditioning is now broken,” said one of them. “We think also the pilots and two of the attackers are dead. One attacker was holding a grenade with the pin drawn, on the flight deck, when we landed, and there was a big explosion before the aeroplane stopped.”
    The she-guerrilla’s gun was now wavering vaguely from the captives to Morris and back again. Morris translated quietly into the walkie-talkie and listened to the reply.
    “Christ,” he whispered, “that’s a hell of a risk. Are you sure . . .”
    “Quite sure, old fellow. I’m enjoying myself.”
    Morris licked his lips.
    “His Majesty requests you to stand quite still,” he said to the girl. “He is about to shoot out the window by your left hip—for God’s sake don’t move.”
    Her mouth opened. None of them heard the crack of the rifle, only the snap and tinkle when the bullet hit the thick glass. The group on the concrete gasped and closed up, but one of the men clapped his hands. Dinah copied him vigorously.
    “You see,” said Morris. “I believe your companions are dead, and two first-class shots have you in their sights. Would you please put that gun down?”
    She moved a long, fine finger to touch the bullet hole, as if to make sure it was not a trick one from a joke-shop.
    “I must point out,” said Morris, “that even by Arab standards Q’Kutis put a low value on human life.”
    Suddenly she crouched, put the gun on the wing beside her and covered her eyes with the inside of her wrists. The man in the blue suit stole quietly forward, reached up and took the gun, but she stayed motionless, stuck in her foetal huddle. The walkie-talkie laughed.
    “Stow it,” muttered Morris angrily. “And send us a few cars out, mate, and someone to take charge of the girl. You’re not appointing me chief of police.”
    “My dear fellow, you’ve done it beautifully. One of those air hostesses doesn’t look a bad bit of skirt either.”
    Morris clicked the gadget off. An absolute monarch has many powers, but he can’t gloat at you if you’re out of earshot. Then he walked across to the passengers, leaving the patient brolly-man to shade Dinah.
    “His Majesty is delighted to announce that you are now safe,” he said. “He will be sending some cars to take you to the palace, but there will be a few minutes’ wait. I suggest you move into the shade of the aeroplane.”
    The man in the blue suit handed him the gun, which he took unwillingly. Dinah started begging to play with it as soon as he reached the shade of the brolly. He switched the walkie-talkie on again.
    “How does the safety-catch on this bloody thing work?” he said.
    “Ah, you’re back in circulation, old fellow. What model is it?”
    “Don’t ask me.”
    “Try pointing it at the sand-dune and pulling the trigger. Hold it firm, though.”
    Morris did as he was told. Nothing happened.
    “Safety-catch on, then,” said the Sultan. “Now listen, Morris. I’m sending Dyal out with the cars—he’ll take charge of the girl. He’s bringing robes and veils for the women—he’ll be there in a couple of minutes. You’ve just got time to go and see whether there’s anyone alive in the plane. OK?”
    “I suppose so.”
    With extreme reluctance Morris moved towards the wing. Dinah whimpered at him and he turned. More for reassurance in his grisly task than anything else he handed the gun to the brolly-man and allowed Dinah to climb into his arms. As they went up the wing the girl didn’t move.
    Inside the plane the plush tunnel reeked of sweat and hot plastic and something else—fear, Morris thought. Animals can smell fear, old wives say. Dinah